To Catch A Mouse
by Da'ud
Summary: If you've read "Dune", you may have noticed that two years pass between parts two, "Muad'dib", and three, "The Prophet". This is my vision of what happened in the intervening time. Reviews highly encouraged! Note- rating is now T instead of K .
1. Chapter 2: Connections

The morning sun that poured over the horizon made the far-stretching dunes of the Habbanya Erg appear as if alight with a white fire all their own. A tall, sand-carved ridge jutted from the expanse, but at such a great distance that it appeared to Virgil to be a reddish blotch on the cream plain. The 'thopter was in its final turn to land, making a swooping arc over the western section of the False Wall before settling into a recess hidden within the craggy mountains. A camouflaged canopy again covered the crevice within seconds of the 'thopter's touchdown. Standing to greet the passengers were several Fremen wearing only their in-sietch dress of browns and greens. Around the necks of each were a tribal gauze kerchief and a series of metal rings, all in varying diameters, woven into a cloth. All wore at the hip that most recognizable but mysterious symbols of Fremen culture, the crysknife. One tall, bearded figure approached first, clasping Terril's arm as he stepped from the 'thopter.

"Very dangerous of you to have made this journey, my friend, but a very welcome pleasure that you could join us here. Please, step inside so you may introduce us to your friend." Virgil followed the pair through an airlock built into the wall of the crevice and into the sietch proper, receiving both questioning and dangerous looks from the other Fremen in the hollow. All had the face and expression of a man never to be crossed, so Virgil did not attempt to return any of their glances and only looked straight ahead to mask his rising discomfort.

Two men pulled the airlock shut behind them, sealing in the sietch's precious moisture. The cave's interior was much larger than Virgil had anticipated, and between the echoes of thousands of voices and the overwhelming odor of spice, the experience was almost a sensory overload. The thought then occurred to him that he had never been exposed to spice in such a quantity; the most he had ever been around was only the occasional tinge of cinnamon that wafted from a merchant's stand or hung on the breath of dignitaries that he had been forced to mingle with because of his occupation. At the forefront in his mind, then, was the latent danger of the geriatric melange: prolonged, concentrated exposure led to inseparable addiction whose absence turned that which gave life into a thing that took it, and in a most excruciating fashion. He decided that he must be vigilant, especially in this sietch, where escape from the omnipresent drug would be difficult at best.

Immediately inside, the Fremen Virgil assumed to be the leader of this band was engaged with Terril, discussing the goings-on between their last visit and this. He heard no mention of Victor's capture. The Fremen motioned Virgil toward him, extending an arm in like manner to Terril's greeting. He reciprocated, but found the grip that held his forearm much stronger than he had anticipated. There was much still to be learned about these Fremen, a people that could survive in stretches of desert deemed too hostile to support life.

"I've not had the privilege to hear much about you friend," the man said to Virgil, "but I'd be pleased to have an introduction. Come, Terril and guest, Ayishah and Nawar have already prepared coffee for us in my quarters." Terril leaned in close to Virgil and whispered.

"My friend here is Hamzah, leader of Sietch Chinbar. You're just lucky that you came here with me, and not on your own accord, else he would've had to follow the law provided in that case.

"What would've happened then?"

"Well, your 'water' would belong to his tribe. Not pleasant, I assure you. Also, Ayishah and Nawar are his wives. I don't expect anything funny of you, but just be very careful- they'll probably slit your throat faster than their husband will." Virgil worked to hide his confusion.

"He has _two_ wives?"

"Yes. One, Ayishah, is his by marriage, while Nawar is his by right." This only puzzled Virgil even more.

"By right, you mean…"

"He won her by defeating her previous husband in single combat. The man was a rebel, trying to usurp leadership of the sietch…"

"Your friend _won_ a second wife?" Pure practicality filled Terril's voice, as he obviously saw nothing wrong with this arrangement.

"Well, yes. It was all legal, you see, and once a man has challenged another to combat in this manner, there's no backing out and the winner claims the property of the loser. Really though, it's necessary if you want to maintain tribal stability." This was all Terril had to say on the matter.

Duels to decide leadership of the tribe, winning wives after the defeat of their husband: where was a man supposed to start in trying to understand these people?

Wall hangings and curtains muffled the clamor of the sietch's interior, leaving the three men to sip at their steaming spice coffee in relative quiet. The stench of cinnamon was so off-putting to Virgil that he considered declining his proffered cup, but prudence and Terril's advice compelled him to accept. Melange intake of this magnitude could be quite damaging to the system, or so he had heard, but he determined that spice coffee would not be as immediately damaging as a knife in his back.


	2. Chapter 1: Arrival

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Traveling by Spacing Guild Heighliner, though very safe and efficient, is by far the most uneventful method of transportation in the galaxy. Loading and unloading can, depending on the cargo manifest, last for hours, but actual travel occurs within the faintest fraction of measurable time; despite brevity, every voyage brings with it a sudden shock of nausea and the implacable feeling that always accompanies an expanded perspective. It was well beyond Virgil's comprehension to try to understand the forces that folded space-time itself to bring such an enormous vessel as a Heighliner to its destination, so he spent his time attempting to subdue his urge to vomit. Thousands of kilometers below him lay Arrakis, the spice planet, with all its mysteries and dangers, yet his task was to avoid them all to find one: the one the people called Muad'dib.

The Guild lighter's flight to down Arrakeen was relatively peaceful, as the larger of the planet's notoriously destructive storms raged across the uninhabited plains that lay further south. Virgil counted that a blessing, knowing the rest of his time on this world would be considerably less forgiving. After stepping out of the lighter, he stood off to the side of its boarding ramp, bags in hand. He waited for his contact, a man he knew in name only: a minor noble named Terril Perion. House Perion was one of the many minor Houses that traded in Arrakeen for either profit or relative seclusion from the rest of the Imperium, usually dealing in stilsuits or spare ornithopter parts, but Perion had a very uncommon specialty that Virgil fully intended to employ: military espionage. If he meant to find Muad'dib, or anyone connected to him, he first had to know exactly what the Harkonnens knew. Perion House kept mostly to itself, or at least hid behind an intricate front of parts and repair, but well-placed questions and a journalist's instincts had gotten Virgil this far already. He heard his name called off to the right, turned to find the source. The man was tall, well built, with dark hair that looked as if it had been swept back with his hands. Sure enough, the man wore Perion House's gray panther signet on his chest.

"Terril Perion, I take it?" Virgil set down one of his duffel bags and extended a hand. Terril took it with a charismatic smile.

"It's good to meet you. If you'll follow me to my ground car, I have some questions for you."

"Well, that must be a coincidence! I have some for you as well. You first."

"Right. In your first message you sent from Kaitain, you indicated your desire for coming to Arrakis in the first place."

"Yes. Why are you asking now?"

"Well, I want to hear it from your mouth. What are you here for?" Virgil looked Terril straight in the eye:

"I'm here to find Muad'dib." Terril couldn't contain a chuckle.

"Right," he chortled. "Just like everyone else in the known universe. You know what I do for a living- _you_ know that _I_ know how many troops the Harkonnens have spent trying to find him, and if I know anything, it's that looking for a man like that, if he even exists, is either a grand waste of time or suicide." Terril indicated for Virgil to seat himself in the back row of the ground car, closing the door after the two of them were inside. "You want to know the forces you're dealing with? Our agents in Carthag have tracked steady flights of heavy troop carriers leaving the city for the south- the deep desert- for months now. Guess the ratio of carriers that come back to carriers that leave. _Guess_." Virgil had no idea and told the man so. "Five to one. That's right. Five carriers leave, _one_ makes it back in one piece. _This_, my eager friend, is what you're getting yourself into." Terril could hardly suppress his worry, but the reporter looked back at him more determined than ever.

"You've given me your concerns, and I thank you, but I have to do this. It's no secret that the Harkonnens have pursued this man at monstrous cost to themselves, and it's even rumored that the Emperor is assisting with squads of Sardaukar troopers. But the Imperium needs to know who this Muad'dib is, why he's effective in leading a people commonly viewed as savages, what his endgame is. I believe there is something more to this man, something the Harkonnens and maybe even the Emperor doesn't want us to know about him. I'm going to find out, and everyone's going to know about it." Terril sighed, leaned in close to Virgil.

"I suppose there's no turning you. I can put you in contact with a Fremen acquaintance of mine, who deals stilsuits with some smugglers I know. If anyone can point the way for you, it's him. I'll arrange a meeting in one of the Fremen villages on the edge of the deep desert, but I warn you, be careful. If this Muad'dib is as powerful as rumored to be, he'll be an easy one to cross. Of course, this is good advice with any Fremen; they can be the most loyal men you ever meet, but cross 'em once and that'll be your last chance. Understand?" Virgil nodded in agreement. "Look, your courage is admirable to say the least, but it's just about on the line with plain stupidity. What you need first, though, is some rest. _And_ maybe a little spice beer. Couldn't hurt, right?" The reporter acknowledged that it couldn't, and the ground car proceeded towards Perion Manor.

***

Dinner in the Perion family manor was lavish compared what Virgil as used to, but he still had to consider the burdens placed on this and other Houses Minor still on Arrakis. Under Rabban's dictatorial fist, nothing escaped the invasion of Harkonnen troopers and intelligence. Rabban may be incompetent on his own, but he knew how to delegate, and the men he set in charge understood their duties and fulfilled them to the letter. Extortion, kidnapping and murder among the Houses Minor of Arrakeen and Carthag was not just common, it was official "un-official" policy; Terril believed it, but finally knew it after his ten-year-old son, Aaron, was taken in the night and four guards were killed in his defense. It fit perfectly with the tactics employed by the Harkonnens for as long as they had been on Arrakis, or for that matter, since their House began in the first place: they would do anything, as long as it could appear both legal and incredible at the same time.

"You know, Virgil," Terril said through a mouthful of roast local bird, "that no one can know of our assisting you. Our House is already suspect for its dealings with smugglers and we can't allow any proof to get out."

"I understand, but if there's anything I can do to repay you, don't hesitate to name it. I'm here at the suggestion of my employer, and as such, he is prepared to offer compensation. Trust me, Terril, Rebecca. Just ask."

"That's very kind, Virgil, but we can't risk it. If any money can be tied to us in this way, it would hurt both our family and your employer. You must realize this." He nodded in acceptance, but resolved to hold himself in this family's debt, depending on how things went with the Fremen. Still, he trusted that Terril did not intend to play him; if he had, Virgil knew he would not have come this far. The nobleman looked to an old-fashioned clock hanging above the tan dining hall's tapestries and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He spoke to his wife as he stepped back from the table:

"Excuse me, darling, but I must be going to meet with Jharret now. You remember- the dealer?" It was to Virgil that he spoke next. "I'll be back from Carthag by tomorrow afternoon, but I'll have to ask you to stay within our compound for the night; you never know how good security is unless you've made it yourself." He bade the both of them goodbye for the night and called for guards to follow. Virgil could hear the thumping flaps of 'thopter wings outside, then slowly, they faded into the night sky.

The rest of the dinner was finished in awkward silence, Virgil not knowing what he could say to Rebecca Perion- other than an expression of his gratitude, of course- without it coming off as intrusive. He wished the Lady Perion goodnight, thanked her and went to his quarters only to find himself unable to sleep. _It must be this foreign place_, he determined. _I just need to give this place some time, that's all._ However, two hours of fleeting thoughts and tossing in his bed, rest was just as distant as ever. He redressed and left his room, hoping that a walk around the compound would help tire him, if not calm his mind.

It was by one of the large windows overlooking the city and the Shield Wall beyond that he found Rebecca. He acted to hide his nervousness.

"My Lady, I didn't know you were awake. I hope I haven't disturbed you?"

"Oh, no, not at all," she said in reassuring tones. "I'm just concerned for my husband. I feel this way often, but increasingly…" Virgil approached her more confidently, looking her in the eyes.

"Your husband is one of the most capable men I've ever met. You have no need to be afraid for him- his task is very dangerous, but I have no doubt that he'll succeed." She smiled back at him, turning to look out the window at the two moons that hung in the sky above.

"You see them, our moons?" she asked. "The one there, the one with the fist on it- it's long been the symbol for resistance on this planet, among both the Fremen of the deep desert and city folk like ourselves. I know it seems silly, but it acts as a reminder that we are not alone when we fight oppression. Arrakis fights with us."

"And the other moon?"

"The mouse- Muad'dib, so the Fremen call it." _Muad'dib! What other secrets could be hidden so plainly?_

"Muad'dib… Why does a resistance leader take his name from such a thing as a mouse? Wouldn't something like, say, a lion, be a bit more ferocious?"

"The way I understand it, the Fremen hold the desert mouse in great reverence, for it does not just live in the desert, it thrives, despite the heat, lack of water and of course, the worms. They refer to it as a teacher of boys." _Does this mean that the man Muad'dib is also a teacher? Surely, one among the Fremen would have to do much to live up to a name like that._

"I don't mean to offend, Lady," Virgil asked, "but… Well…"

"Yes," Rebecca probed.

"Why isn't your espionage used to put your House in a better position? You must have _something_- with all that information comes considerable power. Why not use it?" Rebecca did something surprising then- she laughed at him.

"This is a question that I've discussed so many times with my husband. In fact, I'm the one who asks it. He has one answer to that, and that it that Perion House does not blackmail, if that's what you mean. We feel a moral prerogative to help the resistance movement, but to profit from it would be something we'd be scarcely able to repent of. We have no pretensions of wealth; we only wish to make the best of our position to help all that we can."

"Even to use such information against the Harkonnens?" The Lady Perion turned very solemn then.

"We must remember what trump card those swine hold. The trump cards they hold for all the Houses Minor on this world." Virgil felt pangs of regret for bringing up the subject again, but Rebecca noted this and reached out to hold his hands in hers. "You were absolutely right about my husband, and I'm glad you are his friend. He'll keep his word to the end of this world or the next. It seems as if he would do so especially if it meant putting his life in jeopardy; he has the mind and hands of a stonecutter with the heart of a romantic hero." The reporter had not expected this level of openness at all- nor had he even wished it initially- but what he now understood gave him a respect for these people he had not anticipated. Terril, the hard worker in a social class that prided itself on its ability to delegate to servants; Rebecca, the proud but tragic Lady whose very life, it seemed, was both inconsequential and noble.

"Now, friend," she said as she released his hands, "tomorrow will be a very busy day, and you'll need as much rest as you can get for the journey ahead. Good night, Virgil. And good luck, for all our sakes." He returned the favor and began walking back to the dormitories. Once he was out of her sight, he turned again to see her, still gazing up at the moons. Whether she looked to the fist or the mouse, he could not tell.


End file.
